


Searching

by Nyctolovian



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gentle Kissing, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by a fancomic lol, Jonathan Sim's POV, M/M, MAG 170, Not Beta Read, Panic, Sorry Not Sorry, Spoilers for The Magnus Archives Season 5, on the hair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-07
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:07:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24586591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyctolovian/pseuds/Nyctolovian
Summary: As Jon lightly encircled his fingers around the metal of the door handle, its frigid seeped into his bones. He glanced to his side. The way Martin was steadying himself with deep controlled breaths as he worried at his lower lip sent a pang through Jon.This was The Lonely’s domain after all.(TMA 170 from Jon's perspective)
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 13
Kudos: 115





	Searching

**Author's Note:**

> My first TMA fic :"" This was inspired by [this amazing fancomic](https://mod2amaryllis.tumblr.com/post/620006167325933568/gee-martin-how-come-your-entity-lets-you-rebel-and) by mod2amaryllis. I borrowed some of their words cos I rly dont know how to write that part any other way ;-; ((edit: it's like 2 lines of dialogue))
> 
> I'm surprised my first tma fic isnt some Ace thing considering its 1) Pride Month and 2) Jon actual-canon-ace-character Sims. But MAG 170 made me **feel** things. :(( Also, ughhh its so difficult to write for this fandom cos I keep looking at Jonny Sims' writing and sobbing, PLUS my biggest weakness is description and exposition. (I took 6 hours to complete this baby. Damn.) Anyway, enjoy!!

Even as he stood outside the looming mansion, Jon could already hear the despair-brimmed tears of its victims drip upon its creaky oak floorboards. He also instantly Knew that this house expanded far beyond its original physical form, dipping far into the reaches of existential emptiness. As Jon lightly encircled his fingers around the metal of the door handle, its frigid seeped into his bones. He glanced to his side. The way Martin was steadying himself with deep controlled breaths as he worried at his lower lip sent a pang through Jon.

This was The Lonely’s domain after all.

However, Martin’s chestnut eyes also held steely determination. His voice, too, was firm when he said, “Let’s go in.”

“B-But are you going to be okay?” Jon asked, placing a gentle hand on Martin’s forearm. 

The huff Martin let out was resigned and he pursed his lips for a second. “It’s not like we can just – I don't know – saunter round the building now, can we?”

“I- Well, no, we can’t,” he mumbled, “but I still don’t want to force you through this.”

“I’ve come this far, Jon. I’m not letting you go on by yourself."

"Um, a break perhaps?"

"It's really fine," Martin assured. "I'm ready."

Gripping the strap of his bag, Jon nodded. “Alright. Remember to stay close then. I know the route.” He clenched his jaw and pushed the heavy door, which opened with a hollow groan. 

A long corridor stretched before them, but they couldn’t see much beyond several doors along it. There was a thick fog obscuring the rest of the house. Martin flinched as white mist extended through the doorway and curled slowly, like a thin finger beckoning him in. However, when Jon looked at Martin again, he was met with an adamant glare, so he licked his lips and faced the corridors again. 

As soon as he took the first step into the domain, he was enveloped in coldness. The shiver that ran through Martin as he followed told Jon that it wasn’t just him. 

A statement tickled the back of his throat but he pushed it down in the interest of safety. He didn’t want to lose himself in the statement as he had in the burning building. Leaving Martin stranded here would have worse consequences than a wake-up slap across his face.

Jon stood at the entrance, assessing the domain as best as he could.

Unlike Peter Lukas’ Lonely, which had strong winds that smelled of salt, this coldness was still and smelled like an immaculately sterilised ward. The fog here, unlike the moving clouds of the seas, snaked lazily around the house. Not to mention, there was an incessant tick-tock surrounding them but none of the clocks in sight had hands, as though time was simultaneously passing and standing still. He could also hear the muffled creaks all around the house, even above him. It was unnerving.

As he slowly and tentatively moved forward, Jon spotted several silhouettes shuffling around in the fog, but they didn’t see anyone as they passed each other by. He peered into the nearest room and saw a little girl shivering as she sat hunched on a green metal foldable chair. Tears dripped from her small chin as she hiccuped silently. Jon tore his gaze from her. 

Other than what was in his immediate surroundings, however, he couldn’t Know much else, other than the fact that a miasma of loneliness poisoned the air of this domain. With a hum, he said, “ How strange. I think The Eye can’t see much in this fog either.” He swung his hand backwards for Martin to take. “Let’s stay together until I can figure this…” His heart leapt to his throat.

He spun around. “Martin?”

Gone.

Only fog.

Frantically, Jon looked around. His breaths grew short and shallow. “Martin?!” he cried.

Gone.

He dashed through the corridor, searching, leaving no room spared. His voice broke as he called, “Martin!”

Gone. Gone. Gone.

Dread swallowed him whole as he scrambled around the mansion, passing by Lonely person after Lonely person. But Martin still couldn't be found.

“Martin! Where are you?!”

How could Jon just lose him? He was just behind! There wasn’t any logical way he could simply disappear from sight like this.

No, no. This distorted reality didn’t work logically anymore. People could very well up and vanish now. He shouldn’t have gotten distracted. 

“Shit.” Jon ran his fingers through his hair. “Wh-where would Martin– Should– Shit shit shit. I don't–" He took in a long shuddering gasp and licked his lips. "I need to look for him. I need…" 

Words that were not his bubbled in his chest, along with his swelling panic. His face was numb and his fingers tingled with terror.

"Wh-Where is he…" 

It was hard to breathe at all, as though the fog was stuffing his lungs. He felt the beginnings of a sob.

He took another deep breath. Then, the words spilled out of The Archivist's lips. _"One might assume that because he smiled often, he was free of worries,"_ he began, his features growing slack. _“What nobody sees are the tendrils of mist that enlace, encase and entrap him. However, that does not matter now. For he sits in the Moorland House, and there is no more illusion. He is truly and perfectly_ a- _alone_.” The Archivist choked. _“Th-There is_ n- _not_ … No… No! _H_ -he isn’t–” 

Jon slapped a hand over his mouth and fell to his knees. He gagged upon unspoken words, but he shoved them further downwards. Digging his fingers into the flesh of his arm, Jon forced himself to get out of his trance. Five seconds in, hold, five seconds out… Repeat. 

His heart was still racing as he pushed himself to his feet again, leaning against the white walls for support. “I will not take that from him! **Never** from him!” Jon spat, raising his head to The Eye that was surely staring back. “And we don’t need you to find each other!” 

He pulled a final defiant scowl at the entity before breaking into a run. “Martin!” he shouted. “Martin, where are you?”

God knows how long he had been running before he felt a familiar something flicker amidst the fog. Jon stopped in his tracks. His chest heaved as he strained his senses. 

… There!

He followed the wavering presence. It was a mere dim spot of light in the thick haze. But it was light nonetheless.

Occasionally, it would fizzle out like a feeble flame. When it did, it would send a shot of alarm through Jon, and he willed it to come back (“please, please, please”). Time and again, it listened to Jon's desperate prayers and returned. Sometimes, it gradually grew into a shimmer. Sometimes, it would sputter alight. Each time it came back though, it felt ever-so-slightly closer.

And Jon chased this distant lighthouse with all his might. 

Then, came a time when the light, after dying out for a while, crackled to life. It settled into a quivering glow and stabilised. 

Then, it grew. 

Jon gasped. “Martin!”

In the distance, he heard Martin’s voice, muffled but very much there.

"Martin!” he called.

A familiar silhouette moved from within the white heavy curtains of mist.

“Martin?”

The voice that responded pulled the weight off his chest. “Jon! Jon, over here!” Martin shouted, blessedly closer. 

“Oh! Martin, hold on. I-I’m coming. I just–”

Bursting through the fog, he spotted Martin, in the middle of the room, clutching a tape recorder to his chest. A wide smile broke across Jon’s face and he sprinted harder. “Oh, Martin," he breathed.

Tension melted from Martin's shoulders at the sight and he made his way over.

Jon shook his head. “Thank god. I-I was–” A wheeze of relief escaped him as they met in a tight embrace. He was practically enveloped by Martin, and the sensation calmed him as he rested his forehead against Martin’s firm shoulder. Eyes sliding shut, Jon drank in the scent of warm tea and comfort. “I-I thought you were behind me.”

“I thought you’d left me behind,” Martin admitted, arms trembling around Jon’s thin body. “Gone on without me.” 

Jon felt a shaky huff against his hair as worry returned to his features. “No, never! N-Never. I-I just-” he managed, pulling Martin closer. He couldn’t really register what he was even saying at this point; words fell out and tripped over themselves while Jon tried to explain, and tried to apologise. 

“It’s okay,” said Martin. Running cool fingertips against the nape of Jon's neck, he pressed a kiss to the top of his greying hair in what Jon could tell was a silent assurance that he was here. 

He was here.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, look: hair kisses are still kisses. Don't argue with me. It's goddamn difficult enough to write in Statement-style. I'm not putting my ace ass through writing smth with too much kissing
> 
> Also, if anyone is willing to take song recs, [像我这样的人 by 毛不易](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VVVfVrZZ7fU) ("Someone Like Me" by Mao Bu-Yi) is a very Martin Blackwood song so I was listening to this on repeat while writing this. It's got translations I think? (tbh not the best tho hhh)
> 
> Now, thanks for reading this! I'm on tumblr so you can bother me [here](https://nyctolovian.tumblr.com). Kudos and comments will be much appreciated ^^


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